


500 miles

by Zarigueya



Series: I'm gonna be [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Dry Humping, Light Angst, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Pining, Unrequited Love, hints of r76
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-03
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2019-03-12 22:38:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13557072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zarigueya/pseuds/Zarigueya
Summary: It strikes him way too hard, too suddenly, like a bullet to the chest.Except this time, he isn’t the one pulling the trigger.





	500 miles

It strikes him way too hard, too suddenly, like a bullet to the chest.

 

Except this time he isn’t the one pulling the trigger.

 

“What are you doing up, _kid_?” Reyes croons, flashing a smile of gleaming white teeth that makes his stomach flip.

 

It’s past midnight, everybody already on their beds; the buzz of the engine across the facility soothing the soldiers to sleep. They just returned from an undercover mission and everybody was particularly tired, especially after Reyes got into a argument with the strike commander the moment they stepped out the ship. Even when they locked themselves on his office, the loud voices could be heard from several rooms away. The discussion ended with the echo of a banging door when Reyes rushed outside.

 

Not a single member of the team dared to ask what happened. Knowing the commander, he would tear out their tongues.

 

“I finished my report.” Mccree rustles, fixing his hat. He supposed Reyes would be sleeping, which was the only reason he dares to burst into his office at that time. The idea was to avoid him until he calmed down. As tired as he was, last thing he needed was his senior officer to drag him to the training facilities and use him as a punching bag after an argument with his beloved strike commander.

 

He finds Reyes sitting on his desk, holding a bottle of liquor, bathed by the halogenous lights over their heads. His face is flushed, eyes damp, lips moisturized; Mccree wonders how long he has been drinking.

 

“You took too long.” he drawls, the edges of his lips curving up. “You always did.” Reyes pushes up on his feet, staggers towards the gunslinger and hooks an arm around his neck. “Keep me company for a while, will _ya_?”

 

Mccree sighs heavily, wishing he would have stayed on his room.

 

At the beginning, he brushes it off as admiration, respect. He looks up at his commander, always has, despite the rough beginning between them. Back in the days he met Reyes, he was just a brat, too cocky for his own good, with a very little conscious will to live after losing the deadlock gang.

 

A couple of years ago, when Reyes met him, the first thing he did was spit on his feet and tell him to _blow him_ . He expected a punch in the gut —after a couple of days in custody, he got used to them—, but Reyes _smiled_ , mildly amused; he reached out and lifted the brim of his hat to look down at him with eyes as dark as chocolate.

 

_Grow a dick first._

 

To this day Mccree remembers those eyes, the eyes of the man who saw potential in him when no one else did, the man who swept him off his feet when he was seventeen.

 

Reyes took him off the streets, knocked some sense into him, taught him everything he knew _._ Mccree, initially cynical, ends up embracing the second chance he is given. He builds his whole existence around Reyes, figuratively and literally speaking. He copies his mannerisms , listens the same radio station, drinks the same scotch whisky, smokes the same brand of cigs. Ana said it was natural, endearing, “cute”. But then he begins to stare too much, too long, too _fondly_ . The way Reyes talks, the way he moves, the way his laughs; his hips, his hands, his mouth, his voice, his eyes. _Warm chocolate eyes._

 

The line between admiring and _admiring_ becomes blurry as they grow closer.

 

It doesn't help the fact the commander is extremely gullible: he is touchy, not even on a flirty way. Reyes would rub a warm palm on his back when asking if he was hurt after a mission, nudge on his arm to call his attention, wrap an arm around his neck and whisper on his ear when gossiping _._ It doesn’t help either his darn habit of sparring shirtless during their training, as if it did nothing to people --Mccree’s tightened trousers would disagree--.

 

“Boss--” Mccree swallow tickly, feeling hot, clenching his fingers on the red handkerchief around his neck. _A Reyes’ gift._ “-- ’m dead tired, you should sleep as well.”

 

“Come on, stick with me.”

 

Mccree shut his eyes, taking a sharp breath, regretting almost immediately; musk and smoke, Reyes’s aroma, makes his head spin “ _Jefe,_ I should _\--_ ”

 

“Stay with me, you idiot.” he mourns, pressing his feverish forehead on Mccree’s cheek. “Stay.”

 

His blood boils, eyes sting. Mccree hates this part, when Reyes drowns on the things he never says, when he reach his limit and overflows. The thick dark waters reaching Mccree, licking his cold feet. It’s not the first time, it happens more frequently than Reyes would dare to admit. And it’s always because one person, the same person, an _asshole, his_ asshole.

 

“‘kay.”

 

Mccree might drown as well, for all he cares.

 

* * *

 

How cramped is the leather sofa on Reyes’ office is something Mccree doesn’t realize it until he wakes up, trapped under his commander’s big limp body.

 

“ _Damn old man_ .” He blinks slowly, the lights over his head hurting his eyes; Reyes breaths on his ear, making his hair stand up. _“Damn old man indeed.”_  He can’t recall in what moment Reyes fell asleep, neither when he followed him. His back would recent later the uncomfortable position they fell into: Reyes got an arm wrapped around his waist, face buried on his neck and his thigh between his legs _. Dangerously close_. He tries to move and his commander groans on his slumber, pushing his leg further.

 

“Oh, hell.” Mccree squeezes his eyes, bites his bottom lip. He definitely has a boner at that point.

 

He pats Reyes’s shoulder, trying to wake him up. “Boss…”

 

Reyes murmurs a word on his ear, one that make Mccree grit his teeth, ugly, green jealousy knotting his stomach. _Stop calling him._ He tries to move, the friction between his crotch and Reyes’ thigh coaxing a sound from the back of his throat. _Fuck._ Mccree squeezes his eyes shut, his whole body shuddering. _Fuck this man._ He humps his hips, leisurely rubbing against Reyes’ leg. _Fuck this man._ Their smells mingle and he feels intoxicated, mind-numbed; he lick his lips, settling a trembling hand over Reyes’ back, the closest he has been to actually hug that man “Gabriel…” he mouths, face burning, warm bubbling on his core. _Gabe._

 

He rub his hands up and down, venturing further, hands clenching on the soft flesh of his ass.

 

Reyes’s breath high pitches and is in that moment where Mccree firmly believes that is the closer he has been to death in his entire life.

 

He stay still, heart pounding on his ears, mouth dry; expects the commander to withdraw and beat the shit out of him. Mccree grit his teeth, waiting for at least a punch on the chin, but Reyes doesn't move, face still buried on his neck.

 

“Finish.” he breathes on his ear, and Mccree feels his damp lips pressed against the skin of his neck. Mccree doesn’t move immediately, and he just do it when Reyes rock his hips, encouraging him to do the same.

 

Mccree’s eyes water as he eagerly dry humps his leg like a dog in heat, hands clenching on Reyes’ ass. A series of lewd sound escape his lips; the smell of sweat, tobacco and whiskey hanging on the air. _Boss, jefe, Gabriel, Gabe._ It takes only his smell to get him hot and bothered. How many times Mccree locked himself on his room and got off while pressing one of his damped shirts against his nose?

 

He barely lasts any longer, voice cracking, warm filling his trousers; his hips move erratically a couple of times more, even after he is done creaming his pants. Mccree presses his feverish face pressed against Reyes’ cheek, hands trailing up. _Gabe, Gabe, Gabe._ He moves his face and, for a fleeting moment, thinks it’s the perfect chance for him to ask for a kiss.

 

His heart shrinks when the commander pulls away; he flutters his arms, as if trying to reach him, as a newborn looking for the embrace of his mother, or a man refusing to let go a lover. Reyes doesn’t even spare a glance on him.

 

Mccree let his arms fall, stares at the ceiling, the blinking light over his head hurting his eyes. He sits on the sofa and watches Reyes pick his boots and the jacket he took while he was drinking. “Boss?” He calls, getting no answer, eyes falling to his feet; he takes a sharp inhale, rubs a hand over his face and snorts. “Why didn’t you stop me?”

 

As if he read his mind, Gabriel finally decides to look at him with the most apathetic eyes he has ever seen on his face.

 

 _“_ Thought I own you one.”

 

The trigger pulls, a heavy realization hitting him so hard it bounces against the walls of his his skull: he _loves_ this man. He loves this cruel, yet gentle man. He loves the heap of contradictions that is Gabriel Reyes.

 

Mccree winces but lifts his gaze, staring back, refusing to let Reyes have his way on him a last time; a battle he loses of course. There is nothing to look at, just the shell of a broken man.

 

He ducks his head, locks brown hair covering his darkened eyes.

 

“You are both assholes.” he bitterly concludes.

 

Reyes agrees.

**Author's Note:**

> Tittle comes from chorus of this gorgeous cover/song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P1G9IoqPCcY
> 
> A live for Jesse pinning over Gabriel, I'm also weak over unrequited love :') (A second part is coming, thanks for reading!)
> 
> Find me on twitter @possssum


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